


as good luck would have it

by taizi



Series: full circle [8]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: "The little yokai -- it’s not hurting anybody. It creeped me out, like I said, but it can’t help being creepy, can it?”Natsume’s eyes narrow. “Nishimura -- ““I know, I know. But -- they’re not all bad,” he says helplessly. “You have your ugly cat, right? You have friends who aren’t human. They can’tallbe bad.”





	as good luck would have it

They left Taki’s house in a group, all of them with a plan of action in mind and Satoru with the leftover cake in a take-home box under one arm.

It was a school night, which was the only reason Kitamoto didn’t push the issue when Satoru turned down his offer of sleeping over again. He did make Satoru _swear_ to call him if anything happened between then and homeroom -- and Satoru promised easily enough, because, honestly, what could happen?

But at the crossroads between Satoru’s way home and Natsume’s, as the colors in the sky leaned closer to evening than afternoon, Natsume caught him by the sleeve. His eyes were dark in that dying light.

They looked the same as they did hours before, when Natsume said he had a friend who could help -- when he _swore_ he would fix everything, even though it wasn’t really his to fix. Satoru was beginning to recognize that look as a particularly headstrong recklessness that didn’t seem to belong in his gentle friend’s face.

“Is there _anything_ else you need to tell me?” Natsume demanded of him, in as much as someone like Natsume was able to demand of anyone, right there under a buzzing streetlight. “Anything else you think I ought to know?”

Taken aback, Satoru said, “I think we covered everything. I’m not hoarding another curse somewhere, promise.”

But in the name of fairness, he thought it over -- wracking his brain for anything that might fall under his friends’ definition of need-to-know -- because he _liked_ that everyone was on the same page now, he wanted to keep it that way, and no stupid, accidental omission on his part was going to ruin that for them.

“There’s the ghost that lives in my ceiling, and one I can hear singing from inside a house I pass on my way to cram school. And Yumemi, too, the one you brought with you to class that day. But other than that, I haven’t had any close encounters, besides the obvious one. I mostly just catch glimpses of weird stuff.”

Natsume and his cat both stared.

“There’s a ghost living in your ceiling?” Natsume finally said. Satoru couldn’t quite work out what his tone was supposed to mean.  

“Yeah, but it just -- you know, hangs out.”

“That’s something sensei and I can probably deal with. Can we come over tonight?”

Imagining the look on his mother’s face if Satoru were to come home with a guest and a cat, Satoru shook his head immediately. “Sorry. After school tomorrow?”

Natsume looked really upset. “But -- “

“I promise, it’s okay. Honestly, it creeps me out, but it’s never done anything to me. We can let this one sit for another night.”

Which is how Satoru presently finds himself talking to the yokai that frequents his bedroom.

“So,” Satoru says, sincerely hoping Kiyoshi doesn’t walk in during this conversation, “I guess my friend is gonna come over tomorrow and evict you. Nothing personal, but I really need to be able to sleep here, you know?”

It’s the first time he’s spoken to the creature directly. It comes out of the ceiling a little bit, but otherwise just stares at him silently, same as always. Featureless and faceless and little more than a coherent blob of discoloration.

One minute of mutual consideration passes into two. Satoru feels kind of bad.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt you. He’s a really cool guy. But I also don’t have any idea how this works, so -- “ He rubs a hand through his hair, at a loss. “Maybe, if you wanted to leave before he got here, that’d be better. Can you do that? You’re not stuck here or anything, are you?”

It moves forward a little bit more. The only distinct thing about it are its round eyes, and maybe Satoru is projecting a little, but he thinks it looks more curious than anything.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” he says sternly. “Last time I got friendly with one of you guys, I ended up in a whole mess of trouble.”

He pulls up his sleeve and shows it his arm. Its eyes move, one going up and the other down by a few inches. It doesn’t have a head or any real form that Satoru can make sense of, but if it were a dog, it would be tilting its head. Somehow, that’s enough to coax a faint smile out of him.

“It’s easier to talk to you than I thought,” he says with some relief. “Maybe ‘cause we’ve spent so much quality time together already, who knows.”

The yokai is lingering in its corner when Satoru leaves for a bath, but when he comes back it’s closer than it’s ever been before. A quiet little lump on his nightstand with big, round, black eyes.

“Oh,” Satoru says eloquently, freezing in surprise. “No, uh -- I think you misunderstood me. The goal here is for you to go away.”

It’s a tiny, tiny little thing. It looked a lot bigger when it was in the wall. He resumes toweling his hair dry, watching it thoughtfully.

“Are you the kind of yokai that was something else before?” he asks it. “Did you used to be alive? Maybe not a human -- you’re so small. Maybe you were a bunny? Or a bird?”

It blinks at him, listening intently. Or at least, Satoru thinks it _looks_ like it’s listening intently. It’s nice to have someone at his house to talk to who won’t lecture him or scold him, and he talks to it while he digs out his homework and struggles through a workbook.

Over the next hour or so, the little thing creeps closer in tiny increments until it’s inches from Satoru’s arm. It watches his pencil move in fascination.

“You’re kind of cute when you’re not haunting the corner like usual,” Satoru says, offering the eraser end of his pencil for its silent examination. “If I’d known you weren’t one of those nasty yokai, we could have talked like this a lot sooner.”

Possibly, it’s stupid to be so friendly with one of these ghosts after what happened last time he got close to one, but -- it’s so _small._ And it quivers a little when its eyes meet his, as though it’s aware of how _big_ Satoru is, in turn.

And here it is, inching bravely out of the dark, into the warmth and light of the rest of Satoru’s bedroom; all because Satoru finally decided to look at it, and speak to it, and acknowledge the small corner of his home that it takes up.

He knows what that feels like. He’s gone whole days in his mother’s bad books, days she’s fed up with him and Kiyoshi is too busy for him, and he knows what an aching relief it is on those lonely days, to be looked at or spoken to. To pick up the phone and hear Kitamoto’s voice, or get a text from Tsuji reminding him about their homework.

“Poor little guy,” Satoru says quietly. “It’s okay with me if you want to stick around.”

Its eyes go tiltways again. Satoru huffs a laugh, bleak thoughts lifting away, and searches through his desk for something else it might like to play with.

 

* * *

 

There’s been something shadowed and unhappy living in Natsume’s face ever since he finally got a look at the curse mark on Satoru’s arm. He’s probably thinking all kinds of pointless thoughts, running around in circles trying to blame himself for the stupid trouble Satoru gets himself into when his friends aren’t around.

It isn’t Natsume’s fault, not even for a second. And Satoru has said that already, a couple times. He just doesn’t know how to say it to make his sad, stubborn friend _listen._

“The friend I mentioned before is an exorcist,” Natsume says with a pale smile, sitting between Taki and Kitamoto at lunch. “He’s much more experienced in these things than I am. I called last night and he said he would look into it.”

“Let us know when he’s coming,” Taki says sweetly, with buried iron in her voice. “That way we all stay on the same page.”

Natsume looks faintly abashed. He’s quick to nod and say “of course, I was going to,” in a way that makes Satoru think he _wasn’t_ going to until she said anything. Tanuma sighs.

“Well, at least Nishimura and Taki are going to enjoy meeting him,” he says, sounding vaguely like he doesn’t want to be there when they do.

“Wait, you know the exorcist friend?” Kitamoto demands. “Who is he?”

“Uh,” Tanuma says eloquently. He looks at Natsume for help.

Natsume glances over his shoulder at the rest of the rooftop, as if to make sure no one else is around to overhear, which is silly in two parts. One, because theirs is the only group that takes lunch up here, especially on gray days like this one. And two, because he’s acting like this friend of his is a _celebrity_ or something, when, as far as Satoru knows, exorcism isn’t exactly a fame game.

“His name is Natori Shuuichi,” Natsume says plainly, a moment later. “He’s an actor.”

 _He’s an actor,_ he says. Like _The ocean is salty,_ or _The sky is blue._

Satoru chokes spectacularly on the bite of fish he stole out of Kitamoto’s lunch box. His friend says “Serves you right,” but pounds him on the back helpfully anyway. Taki is bright-eyed with delight, hands folded in front of her mouth, and their loud “ _Natori Shuuichi?”_ comes out in perfect, shrill unison.

Natsume is smiling, and it’s one of those smiles that makes something in Satoru’s stomach twist. It’s a smile that says “I thought you’d like this, and I’m happy you’re happy.” He gets it from Kitamoto all the time, sometimes he still gets it from Kiyoshi, but it surprises him to be smiled like that by anyone else.

Natsume explains that he met Natori that time the actor was filming on location near the edge of their town. They were something of grudging acquaintances at first -- and god, Satoru wished he could have seen it, he would give _anything_ to have seen it -- but now they’re good friends, and Natsume thinks highly of him.

“Natori says a lot of things he doesn’t mean, and acts suspicious sometimes, but I trust him with my life,” Natsume says, with the stark certainty of someone who knows how it is to put their life in another person’s hands, and has no idea how odd it is that he does. “He’ll help us.”

“Especially since Natsume is the one who asked,” Tanuma adds wryly. “Natori would adopt Natsume in a heartbeat.”

Natsume turns bright red and denies it fiercely, which is pretty much proof that Tanuma is exactly right, but that’s not so hard to believe. Most people who know Natsume would be thrilled to make him part of their family and care about him all the time. The Fujiwaras totally lucked out by getting to him first. It’s not hard to believe that a famous actor like Natori could feel that way about him, too.

“ _That’s_ how you always managed to get your hands on such awesome merchandise!” Satoru exclaims. “Do you guys know what this means? I have _connections!”_

“Natsume has connections,” Kitamoto corrects him by rote, going back to his lunch.

“Same thing!” Beaming, Satoru says, “I am _so_ getting an autograph.”

Thankfully, Natsume waits until they’re heading back downstairs and the others are a little bit ahead to remind Satoru that he’s coming over after school.

Satoru forgot all about that. He thinks of the tiny little creature in his bedroom, happily puddled by the shiny hundred yen coin Satoru left it, and blurts, “No!”

Natsume stares at him. Satoru tries to think of something that sounds reasonable. Natsume saves him the trouble a moment later, softening.

“Your mom?” he says.

Relieved, Satoru nods. It’s not even really a lie -- his mom is always mad at him for something.

Just as he’s about to go along with it, a nagging little voice in the back of his mind reminds him helpfully that _this_ kind of roundabout thinking was what got him in trouble with his friends in the first place.

Even if it isn’t really a lie, it isn’t the truth.

Satoru rubs a hand through his hair. “Yes, but no. The little yokai -- it’s not hurting anybody. It creeped me out, like I said, but it can’t help being creepy, can it?”

Natsume’s eyes narrow. “Nishimura -- “

“I know, I know. But -- they’re not all bad,” he says helplessly. “You have your ugly cat, right? You have friends who aren’t human. They can’t _all_ be bad.”

“Nishimura,” Natsume says again, just that, an argument in itself. Satoru’s shoulders slump, and he tries not to look dejected when he drops his eyes. The ground is much more interesting than the painfully understanding expression Natsume is giving him.

After a moment, his friend surprises him with a sigh.

“At least let me meet it,” he says ruefully. “Nyanko-sensei will be able to tell if it has bad intentions. I promise I won’t let him hurt it if it really is harmless.”

Satoru brightens, beaming at him. “Deal!”

Natsume smiles back like a knee-jerk reaction, shaking his head. “Most people I’ve met have a black-and-white perspective when it comes to yokai,” he says. “You’re weird, Nishimura.”

Satoru can’t help thinking of Yumemi and the little yokai in his bedroom, mentally comparing them to the creature that cursed his arm. They’re _nothing_ alike, not even remotely. It feels wrong to try to lump them into the same group, even just for argument’s sake.

“That makes _me_ the weird one?” he asks skeptically. For whatever reason, Natsume laughs.

 

* * *

 

“It’s right in h-- oh, no,” Satoru says in dismay, when his tiny roommate shoots back into the shadow of the wall as Natsume steps into the room. “I think we scared it. It doesn’t know you.”

Natsume looks both tolerantly amused and wary. He hangs back, Nyanko-sensei tucked securely in his arms, and Satoru goes after the yokai.

“Sorry,” he says to the wall, “but I told you my friend was coming, didn’t I?”

It peeks out at him, round eyes unwavering. He gives it a stern look.

“See? I _did._ You’re all bent out of shape for nothing.”

“Your friend has a deathwish, Natsume,” he hears Nyanko mutter behind him.

Satoru ignores him, standing on tiptoe and reaching as far overhead as he can to offer the little yokai his hands. It considers him briefly, but he’s probably as familiar as the rest of the room is at this point, because it slips into his palm a moment later.

It’s cool to the touch, like dipping his hand into an afternoon shadow. It's a small, solid weight that sits compact in his palms, somehow soft and velvety for all that it's not really there. Satoru lowers his arms gingerly, bringing the creature in closer as though it's something fragile to be handled with care. 

"You won't get hurt if I drop you, right?" he says, with the same uneasiness he feels when there's a chance one of his relatives might ask him to hold a small child. "You're pretty durable if you're a yokai, right?"

Natsume is staring at him when he finally turns around, but agreeably steps in with Nyanko-sensei to study the little thing. It recoils from the lucky cat, trembling against Satoru's fingers in a way that makes him want to snatch it safely away. "Why is it scared?" he demands, eyeing the cat suspiciously. 

Nyanko-sensei sniffs it for a moment, narrowed eyes an unearthly green. Then he huffs, and settles more heavily in the circle of Natsume's arms. "This was a waste of time," he complains, flicking an ear. "This little runt is totally harmless. You owe me manju, Natsume." 

Looking faint with relief, Natsume's whole face lightens with a smile. "Is that so?"

"It was just a bird before it died. It must have some reason to cling to this house in particular. Maybe its nest was here or something." 

"I wonder why it became a spirit," Natsume says, looking at the thing with a new appreciation now that he knows it won't hurt his friend. His voice is gentle towards it. "Can you find out?"

"It doesn't want to talk to me," Nyanko says dismissively. Just like a cat, Satoru thinks, affronted on his yokai's behalf. "This brat would probably have more luck than either of us would," he adds, gesturing at Satoru with a paw. "It seems attached to him."

"Let me know how it goes," Natsume tells him as he leaves. Satoru promises to, and sits on the bed with his tiny companion still in hand. 

"That nasty cat scared you, huh?" he says, patting it with the tip of one finger. "He's all bark and no bite, I promise. He talks a big game, but he won't do anything Natsume tells him not to, and Natsume's on  _our_ side. Didn't I tell you my friend was a cool guy?"

It looks up at him while he talks, eyes round and without fear. The trembling from earlier has faded into the quivering anticipation that reminds Satoru of a touch-starved animal. A surge of sympathy brings heat to his eyes, but he doesn't falter petting the little creature carefully. 

"So you were a bird, huh? I guess you wouldn't have liked Nyanko-sensei even if he wasn't a jerk. What kind of bird were you?" He leans against the wall, bringing up his knees. "It'd be nice if you still _looked_ like a bird. Then I could look you up and find out."

Kiyoshi is studying in the room next door, and mom won't be home until later. Satoru will see his friends tomorrow, but the hours are long and lonely until then. He looks at the yokai in his hands, still watching him intently. 

"It'd be nice if you could talk," he goes on with a sideways smile. "Then we could keep each other company." 

It's probably that, more than anything, that causes what happens next. 

 

* * *

 

"hello."

Satoru blinks himself awake in the dim light of early morning. There's a weight on his chest that was there when he fell asleep, and he squints as his eyes try to adjust to the dark. He could have sworn he heard --

"hello." 

A very, very small voice. Waking up faster with every second, Satoru starts to sit up, and freezes when the tiny needlepoints of claws dig into the front of shirt to keep their grip as he moves. He looks down, into round black eyes. They belong to a bird roughly the size of a small crow, with stark black and white plumage and long tail feathers.

It tilts its head at him, quivering. Satoru's heart flies into his throat. A quick glance into the corner of his room where his roommate usually lingers proves it to be empty. Could this be -- 

"Uh," he says eloquently, pulse racing. "Hi. Are you -- are you my yokai?"

It tilts its head at him the other way, movements bird-quick and precise. "you are?"

Satoru blinks a few times. It takes him a minute to find any words. "Have I really never introduced myself?" he asks dumbly. "I mean, I guess not. Wow." 

It shifts back and forth on its feet, ruffling its wings. Satoru doesn't know enough about birds to know if that's good or bad. It's probably getting impatient with him. 

"you are?"

"Satoru. Nishimura Satoru, but Satoru's fine," he says slowly. In part, he wonders if he's going to wake up at any moment to a more normal morning. He's half-hoping he doesn't. 

"satoru," the bird says happily. "hello."

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about this little bird for a long time :')


End file.
